7.27.2011

The solace of sunshine, the peace of rain
I would gather it up, into my silver cup
And drink deep, its secrets I would keep
Pouring like a golden tear, and hear
The last drip, drip, and so slack my grip
And leave the dregs last, in the cold glass
Leave the dregs there! for the brightening air
That breathes life to everyone
is but the dregs of the sun.

7.25.2011

Six hundred and fifty seven --
How dare one to quantify
To count, that is, the leaven
Cast into the bread of life?
And thereby, see beyond its strife
Counted blessings, they say
None deserved, but each bought
Bought with each numbered day
Won in each battle fought
But to be given as one ought
Be all blessed things, away
As may man to his wife
Now give as he is able
Even to the blood of his life
If it yet be no fable
And each drop counted, then
As the tears even overwrought
And we return once again
Hereafter counting, consider our lot
Not blessings received, but given
Count each candle its lit-match sought;
- Six hundred and fifty seven.

7.22.2011

The thwarted child responds with hate
And the arsenal of all denial
The disbeliever must too reciprocate
Being its likeness all the while.
God, whose subtleties they miss
Is unseen for them to revile
So to fellow-man, a deathly kiss
Will make their inch a mile.

Seismographic Radar

A Poem

Is a curious device which is not unlike a part of an unknown whole; or as if a watchmaker had inspiration to make all of the parts of the watch before knowing either what it was or that he was a watchmaker at all.

It speaks to and from that mode of thinking which is almost purely masculine; it is not unlike music but is not music, it is the cousin of music and its companion. It has a tripartite nature like music in rhythm, rhymes and narrative.

It is almost pure play, and so is accused of mere cleverness or frivolity, but it is also in deadly earnest. In this way, it is like a play of masks or a pageant, but it must be kept with an eye that sees beyond the device itself.

It is an object both of time and space; the mystery of representation and symbol that is in art and music finds its truest expression here. It is still and yet moves, if it is ugly it is instead grotesque, it shocks and appalls the earthly senses, but the incision is clean; the heart is pulled free if but for a moment to ascertain what is really there.

A Purpose

To call to mind that which persists through the flux of time in bright relief of silver and gold -- as it was of old.